Diary of an Engineer
by crispyleafy
Summary: Follow escapades of Gnome engineer Spastical Gattersprock through the entries of his journal.


Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft but I claim all rights to the name and this fiction.

Entry One - Ironforge

I shall start, I suppose, by entering my name and purpose. I am Spastical Gattersprock of Gnomish Engineering. Head of the robotics department in fact! I have proven my grand intellect and usefulness more times over than any Gnome, or being in this dreadfully warm establishment, could even hope to prove. I have created inventions that no being could possibly dream of!

Yet they all say that I've grown "full of myself" and "pig-headed." Milly Locksin said just the other day that my head was inflating to the size of one of those ridiculous flying machines that the Goblins have created. Goblins; how ridiculous that we have to share seats with them during the national Engineering conventions. It's bad enough that they have their own branch now. Who knows what they may do now!

Yet I digress. Milly Locksin has stated that she believes I need "help." This of course is a ludicrous thought. Me? The great heir to the Gattersprock name need help of some sort? I scoff at the very mention of it! Yet, as I refused, she has given me this book to write in. Says that it may stop me from "…unhinging my brain any further…" She's simply jealous of my superior intellect. I know it.

I, of course, refused at first. That was until the little wench mentioned something of explosives and the need of a test subject. However unwilling that subject may be. The gods forbid you put a an angry, pig-tailed Gnome wench bent on some misguided revenge plot together with a batch of untested explosives. Not sure why I do not just bluff my way through this troubling time and tell her that I am writing in her little book. Somehow I think she'll know and the very prospect terrifies me.

So I shall play her little game for now and write in this book. I suppose it couldn't hurt, yet I shall not be ordered around like some Orcish peon by the little wench. However terrifying she may be, she must have a weakness and I shall find and exploit it! Never again shall she order me around! She shall rue the day that she decided to threaten me with the prospect of my beard _somehow_ catching fire during work. Or the chance that a lit EZ-Thro may find itself under my work seat.

Speaking of which, I must return to my experiments. We've recently begun work on a faster and more fuel efficient flying machine. I have dubbed it the Rocketaine 2175 yet the dwarves, unappreciative of my work by the way, simply call it a "flying thingy." These hunters and smiths have no idea how much I put into my work! They'll see! They'll all see!

--

Entry One - Continued

Am disappointed and rather embarrassed to report that Rocketaine 2175 may need some…tweeking you may say. The blasted dwarves I had brought in to test run R2175 must have tampered with it! That is the only explanation for what occurred!

Allow me to elaborate. I arrived promptly on time to the test site, in the war room for some ridiculous reason, only to find none of my test subjects on sight. While we waited I made some last minute adjustments to the beautiful machine I'd designed and, low and behold, here come the dwarves! Look how they stagger drunkenly in to work, empty pint mugs still in hand as they laughed heartily. Against my better judgment I agreed to continue onward with the test run of my creation.

And what did my decision reward me with? The little buggers seated themselves in my machine only to begin pressing the "Pree'y but'ons!" on the control panel. R2175 gave an interesting noise as it lurched forward and into the air. My pride nearly burst as I saw her flying around the war room; flying as I had built her to fly! Of course that was right before the fool flew too close to the war table. At least I know now that the base and metals were proportioned correctly as it picked up the draenei and the human war leaders with relative ease. It then carried them, along with the manically laughing dwarf, mug and all, into a nearby wall.

I never realized until that moment just how durable live beings can really be. While my beautiful creation lay in a burning, twisted heap on the ground, the dwarf staggered almost merrily out of the wreckage stating that it was the greatest ride he'd ever been on. The draenei carried the human out, both looking rather haggard.

Milly, the little trollop, was more than a tad amused. She had, to my great displeasure and humiliation, come to view my demonstration. I believe that tonight I may take a leaf out of the dwarves book and drown my embarrassment in a mite bit of ale.

End Entry One - Spastical Gattersprock


End file.
